Climbing Mount Everest
Seaborn “Beck” Weathers
[This essay, taken from a book titled Everest: Mountain Without Mercy, describes one man’s attempt to climb
Mt. Everest, the highest mountain in the world.]
Vocabulary preview:
deteriorated (par.5) lessened in quality
disembodied (par.9) separated from the body
halting (par.11) slow and uncertain, hesitant
remote (par.12) distant, far away
remnant (par.15) leftover piece, trace
primitive (par.17) primary, basic
[1] As I approached the Southeast Ridge of Mt. Everest shortly before sunrise, I was feeling strong, but
my eyes simply weren’t focusing. Fortunately, I didn’t really need to see the route, because deep steps had
been kicked ahead of me. The traverse at the bottom of the Southeast Ridge required more vision, however,
and I had great difficulty feeling my way along it. When we reached the Balcony, I had to tell Rob Hall that I
wouldn’t be able to continue climbing for the moment. In the brightness of the sun perhaps my pupils would
constrict and I could follow later, I told him optimistically.
[2] “Only if you’re able to leave here within the next 30 minutes, “Rob told me.
[3] “Well if I can’t, then I’ll just head back down to the mountain.”
[4] But Rob didn’t like the idea of not knowing whether I had made it down safely or not, so he made me
promise to stay put until he returned.
[5] I was still waiting there for Rob when the evening light started to fade. My vision again deteriorated
when my pupils dilated. I now regretted my promise to Hall, especially because some hours earlier, around 1
p.m., others on our team had abandoned their summit attempt and offer to help me down.
[6] John Krakauer, a teammate, was the first climber to return from the summit. He didn’t mention having
seen a storm coming, though in one of his accounts he reported that when high on the mountain he noticed
that to the south a blanket of clouds had quickly replaced clear skies. I told Jon that I really couldn’t see very
well and that I needed to descend, and might need him to downclimb close enough to be my eyes.
[7] Jon was willing to descend with me, but he reminded me that he was not a guide and that Mike
Groom was coming 20 minutes behind him. Mike had a radio, and could let Hall know that I was heading
down with him.
[8] When Mike descended, he was assisting Yasuko Namba, who was badly exhausted. Neil Beidleman
also came, with clients from Scott Fischer’s group. Mike turned Yasuko over to Neal, then short-roped me
down the Triangular Face.
[9] From the face we climbed onto the South Col, and were there for only a few minutes when the storm
came up very quickly. I was cold but not particularly tired, and held onto Groom’s coat sleeve. Visibility went
to zip, and in the blowing snow and gathering darkness the other climbers became nothing more than fuzzy,
disembodied headlamps. Totally lost, we were a pod of people following, like kids playing soccer, whoever
was the current leader. We came to a standstill within feet of the sheer drop-off of the Kangshung Face, on
the eastern edge of the South Col, and formed a huddle.
[10] All of our oxygen had run out, and we rubbed and pounded on each others’ backs trying to keep
every muscle in our bodies moving in order to generate heat and stay awake. I remove my right mitten, while
leaving on the expedition-weight polypropylene glove liner, in order to place my hand inside my parka to
warm it. the skin on my arm instantly froze. In that instant the wind blew my mitten away, and suddenly I was
unable to zip up my parka. The spare pair of gloves in my pack might as well have been on the face of the
moon, and I couldn’t have opened my pack anyway.
[11] After a few hours, some stars shone through a hole in the clouds, and we had a halting discussion
about how to proceed. Some of us were barely able to walk, and I couldn’t see. Groom and Beidleman
decided to strike out in search of the camp, to send people back for us. This seemed reasonable.
[12] Gradually, the whole scene became more remote. I had sensation of floating, and didn’t feel cold
anymore. That must have been when I drifted off. I was not conscious when Anatoli Boukreev returned for
the others.
[13] Some time the next afternoon, I found myself alone on the ice. I was not terribly uncomfortable, and
was convinced I was dreaming: The hardest part was coming to grips with the fact that my situation was real,
and serious. I rolled over and looked at my right hand, which appeared like an unnatural, plastic, twisted gray
thing attached to the end of my arm—not at all the hand that I knew. I banged it on the ice and it made a
hollow sound, a sickening thunk.
[14] This focused my attention. I could see my family there in front of my eyes, and managed to sit up,
realizing that if I didn’t get moving, I was going to lie there for eternity. none of our group was there; either
they had left or I had become separated from them. It was clear that help wouldn’t show up now.
[15] I dumped my pack and ice ax, figuring this was a one-shot deal: I would either find camp or lose my
last remnant of energy and sit down to wait for the end. For about an hour and a half I wandered in different
directions, unable to orient myself, hoping I’d recognize something.
[16] Then I remembered that during the night someone had said that the wind blows over the South Col
from the Western Cwm, from the west. Camp had to be upwind. So, I turned into the wind, put my head
down, and figured I’d either walk into camp or off the edge of the mountain.
[17] I was propelled by a primitive desire to survive. My oxygen-starved brain wasn’t working, but I was
certain of one thing: that I would die, that very soon I would sit in the snow and wait for exhaustion and the
cold to overcome me. I began to hallucinate. The landscape was moving and the rocks changed shape and
crawled around me, I accepted this and continue wandering. It was not at all frightening. I was in a very calm
state, except for a feeling of sadness that I would be unable to say some of the things I wanted to my family. I
knew that I could accept death.
[18] But I had a heck of a lot to live for, and wasn’t going down easy. My family, standing there before me,
became an enormous driving force. The changing, uneven surface of ice and rocks caused me to lose my
balance and fall several times. I knew not to fall on my hands, so I rolled as I went down—which was
exhausting in itself.
[19] And then a miracle happened. A couple of soft, bluish rocks appeared in front of me, and their
smoothness led me to think they might be tents. But right away I caught myself indulging this thought,
knowing I would only be disappointed, which would affect my will to continue. I steered toward them anyway,
preparing to walk right past them.
[20] Suddenly, someone was standing there, and it was Todd Burleson. He took one look at me, got me
by the arm, and led me to the camp. Pete Athans and Todd were sure that I was going to die too, but I’m glad
they didn’t tell me. When a middle aged guy like me can survived that, it gives truth to the possibility that this
kind of strength resides in each of us.
